


In My Dreams And Under My Skin

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, lots of fluff, minor smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 11:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Gabriel and Beelzebob hatch a plan to punish Crowley, and by association Aziraphale, by messing with Crowley's head. Lots of angst ensues.





	In My Dreams And Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This one is a bit long and very angsty. I can't stop writing about these two idiots, so I hope you enjoy, because I don't see myself stopping any time soon.

> "Just like the sea has spent eternity   
>  At the mercy of the moon  
>  So have I for you"
> 
> \- Nikka Costa  
>    
>    
> 

_____________________________________________________________

“It’ll never work” snapped Gabriel irritably, disdainfully flicking at a bit of ash that had landed on the lapel of his slate gray, immaculately tailored suit with a well manicured finger. He hated visiting Hell. It was filthy here for one thing, and revoltingly unfashionable. 

“Of course it will!” Beelzebub sneered. The large fly that sat perpetually atop her head flicked its greasy wings and tightened its spindly black legs about her pale, puss encrusted temple. Gabriel suppressed a shudder. One of many he’d suppressed since he’d made the possibly very poor decision to meet with the demon earlier that week. “Look, She said we couldn’t  _ physically harm them _ didn’t She?” continued Beelzebub, “So I’m not proposing that we  _ physically  _ harm either of them. But” Beelzebub raised her eyebrows suggestively, “She didn’t make any specifications about  _ mental harm _ though did She?” Her sneer deepended to a wicked smile, full of dark mischief. 

Gabriel let out what he hoped was a condescending sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. “No, I guess She didn’t say anything about  _ mental  _ torture. But wouldn’t we have to harm him in order to bring him here, to abduct him? He’ll struggle. He’s surprisingly wiry”

“You misunderstand me” , _ you stupid, pompous stuffed shirt _ added Beelzebub subvocally “We wouldn’t have to touch him physically at all. What kind of demon would I be if I couldn’t reach into his head and mess about with his thoughts? Angels can’t read demon’s minds very well, but demons reading demon’s minds? Twisting things about and making demons see things? That’s done relatively easily. As long as he’s unconscious, or caught off guard, or maybe … drunk? And as long as I’m somewhere nearby, I could quite easily reach in and tweak a few things. Make him see what we  _ want  _ him to see.” 

Comprehension slowly dawned across the archangel’s handsome features. “Aaaah. I get you now!” he exclaimed. “Good thing the stupid moron spends half of his time napping and drinking. When he isn’t chasing after Aziraphale that is. This could go really well”. If Beelzebub didn’t know any better, she’d have thought she spied a devilish shine in Gabriel’s bright, violet colored eyes. He was certainly enjoying this little plan of theirs more than your average angel should. But then again, so was she. She’d loathed seeing the Apocalypse averted just as much as Gabriel had. War was good for business. It made your followers fear you and kept your enemies on their toes. And with all the demons of Hell out on the battlefield, it would have allowed Beelzebub some much needed peace and quiet. Without all the moaning and screaming and licking of walls for once. 

For his part, Gabriel loathed insubordination. Angels were supposed to obey. Those that didn’t were supposed to be punished. If Gabriel were honest with himself (and he definitely wasn’t), he’d admit that he rather liked punishing people. He got a dark sort of kick out of it, and he sensed that Beelzebub did to. The glint of sadism they recognized in each other had probably helped to spur this plan into creation. Most angels were too boring and most demons were simply too stupid to come up with something this devious. He had to give it to Beelzebub.. She was nothing if not creative. And they had to be creative to avoid detection by God. Yes, she was omnipotent and omnipresent, but what most people didn’t understand about Her was that She only paid attention in an absent way. She wasn’t a helicopter parent. More like a  [ laissez faire ](https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1CAQRFK_enUS750US750&q=laissez+faire&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjs4fuglIzjAhXaKM0KHQFKCqwQkeECCC0oAA) nanny. One that preferred humans and beings both demonic and celestial to generally work things out for themselves. She’d said it would “help them grow” whatever that meant.

When Gabriel had asked The Metatron what was to be done about the rebellious angel and demon, post Armageddon-that-wasn’t, all The Metatron had had to say was “Do not touch them”. It was sort of cryptic really. Beelzebub however had chosen to interpret that as “do not  _ physically _ touch them”. Her loose interpretation served his needs quite well if this plan that was becoming clear to him was going to work. He smiled his smarmiest, fakest, most corporate CEO smile and gingerly shook hands with Beelzebub to seal the deal, immediately wiping his hand off on the side of his pant leg afterwards. “I’ll have my people call your people”. 

  
  


____________________________________________________________

Crowley and Aziraphale were drinking. They were often drinking, but tonight was different. It was the first time they’d been alone after the Apoca-wasn’t, in the back room of Aziraphale’s book shop, after a very nice dinner at the Ritz. One in which Aziraphale had lovingly consumed a butternut squash and basil soup, a poached salmon dish with red bliss potatoes and capers and a kale salad in a white wine shitake mushroom dressing with slivered almonds, a brandied pear tart and an Irish coffee with whipped cream… all while the demon watched, secretly delighted by his friend’s immense enjoyment of the food, from behind his dark shades. Crowley had indulged in a burger and chips and a diet soda. All of which he’d ordered explicitly and only to unsettle the stuffy waiter and to make nearby patrons gossip about how gauche he was being behind their hands. He hadn’t even eaten all that much and had indulgently let Aziraphale sneak french fries off his plate. 

He was in a fantastic mood. Which wasn’t usual for him. Well, to be exact, he was often in what passed for something of a good mood while causing mischief. But that was more just a part of the job. So while there was an undeniable thrill he experienced while tying up traffic on the M25, or while tempting a wide array of humans into an even wider array of minor sins… it was an empty sort of thrill, that left him feeling nothing when it departed. Compare this to the way he felt around Aziraphale, and common mischief paled by comparison. 

Being in Aziraphale’s company seemed to always….fill Crowley up. As if he could make a feast of the angel’s features and gobble up the angel’s sweet voice. Perhaps this is why he was so rarely hungry around Aziraphale. The angel ate sumptuous foods, and Crowley ate the angel up with his eyes. He did so carefully, always from behind his dark shades. Letting his yellow and black gaze play over Aziraphale’s lovely smile, his large hazel eyes that crinkled charmingly with fine lines around the edges, his bright, untamable hair, like white flames, his broad shoulders and soft belly and thick legs. Crowley snuck these glances as often as he could. Little nibbles here and there, stolen when Aziraphale was distracted. Or, on those rare occasions when Aziraphale sat, in one of his overstuffed armchairs, lost in some book or another, Crowley could openly gaze at him behind the smoke screen of pretending to nap on the nearby couch without the other being aware. He’d memorized all the moves of Aziraphale’s face, all the twitches of brow and scrunches of nose. All the lines around his mouth and all the shapes his lips made, especially when they bloomed into a rosy smile. He’d cataloged all the special glints that shimmered in the angel’s eyes when he smiled. All the flashes of hazel lightening when he was irritable with Crowley, and all the shine in the Aziraphale’s gaze when he felt sadness or confusion. He collected all of these images, carefully, in his mind, as if they were pretty seashells or smooth stones or baubles he kept in a special, velvet lined box. When he was alone, in his most secret times, he’d take them out of the secret place in his mind and replay these little microexpressions, taking delight in the memories. 

He never spoke of his feelings to Aziraphale. How could he? He was a demon, all sharp angles and hissing, dark, cynical slithers. He’d always known that Aziraphale was too good for him. In the painful and mundane way of unrequited love with one who was pure and sweet when you certainly were  _ not _ , but also in a biblical way. Too _ good  _ for him. Too much of  _ God _ for him. 

Sharp angles and soft angels simply didn’t go together. 

And this was fine. It was  _ fine _ , repeated Crowley to himself. He could live without Aziraphale returning his love. He was simply happy to drink him in, surreptitiously, from behind dark shades. It was fine and it was enough. He told himself this often, even when it felt like a blatant lie. 

After they’d dined at the Ritz, Aziraphale had warmly and predictably invited Crowley over for after dinner drinks and a chat, and Crowley, doing his best to feign mild interest had casually accepted. Now they were lounging about in Aziraphale’s cozy back room, rather swiftly working their way through a delightful cabernet sauvignon and chatting amiably. Eventually, the conversation had turned to music and Crowley had tried to (rather unsuccessfully) broaden Aziraphale’s musical taste to something more updated than Brahms. 

“No,” he explained patiently. “Not  _ radial _ head… it’s pronounced  _ Radio _ head” as he’d pressed play in the Youtube music video for Karma Police on his cell phone. He’d fallen in love with the band when they first debuted on the scene back in the early 90s. Tom York’s tremulous, keening vocals and the band’s edgy, modern sound had completely enthralled Crowley. Aziraphale however, wrinkled his nose at the songs Crowley had tried to play for him. He just couldn’t connect to something that modern. It was infuriating. So Crowley had tried a different tactic,

“What about Frank Sinatra?” he tried in exasperation, hoping that music from the mid 1940s would be a better match for Aziraphale’s ancient sensibilities. 

“Frank who?” asked the angel. His quizzical eyes completely blank of recognition. Crowley slapped an exasperated hand to his face with a groan. 

“Frank  _ bloody _ Sinatra??? You know.. The Rat Pack? Old blue eyes? For the love of  _ Satan  _ angel, have you been hiding under a rock for the last two hundred years??” Although Crowley was irritated with Aziraphale’s obliviousness surrounding modern popular culture, he wasn’t surprised. The angel was still trying to wrap his head around microwave ovens and air conditioning. He was just an old fashioned creature. Nothing more to it. This was always showcased in sharp contrast against Crowley’s deep love and obsession with all things new and flashy and expedient. 

Aziraphale’s blank look turned mildly affronted. “Well! There’s no need to be insulting dear boy!” He snapped in the flustered way that made Crowely’s heart melt just a little bit every time it happened. Which was probably why he teased Aziraphale so often. He had to get his fix after all didn’t he?. “Just because I’m not up to date on all the latest rock and roll songs you’re going on about all the time doesn’t mean I’m some sort of feeble minded relic”

“Yes it does” quipped Crowley, inwardly cringing at Aziraphale’s careful pronunciation of the “and” between rock and roll. He sounded like every hopelessly out of touch grandparent trying to connect with every disaffected and unimpressed teenager since the dawn of time.  _ ‘So young man, tell me, what sorts of rock. AND. roll do you enjoy listening to? _ ’. 

With a sigh, he snapped his fingers and a Best Of Frank Sinatra record materialized in his hand. Couldn’t play old Frankie on a CD or an Ipod. It had to be vinyl. Crowley stepped quickly over to Aziraphale’s ancient record player, reverently removed the shiny black record from its cardboard sleeve and placed it expertly on the turntable. He then gently dropped the needle with careful precision into the very first groove on the record’s surface. The delightful crackle of old vinyl, like the crackle of logs in a winter fireplace... a sound Crowley had always loved, filled the bookshop for a moment. And then the first soft brushes of the drums from Fly Me To The Moon whispered forth. A moment later, Frank Sinatra’s golden voice joined in. 

Crowley watched with delight as Aziraphale’s eyes instantly lit up with joy. “Oh my!” He exclaimed, with a happy clap of his hands. “This is simply delightful!”. His face broke into a broad smile that made Crowley’s heart lurch painfully in his chest. “Why haven’t you told me about this … Frank Sinatro before?”

“Sinatr _ a _ ” Crowley corrected him absently, a slow, lopsided smile spreading across his own face. The angel’s happiness was infectious. Aziraphale had started to sway gently back and forth in (almost) time to the music.. His foot tapping and his hand swaying along with the songs lilting melodies.  _ Bullseye _ thought Crowley with deep satisfaction. He saw the angel’s education on new things, cool things and modern things as his own personal responsibility. Whenever he’d succeeded in turning the angel on to something new (“new” being the operative word here), he felt it a personal triumph of his own resilience and resourcefulness. 

“Welcome to the mid 20th century” he intoned sarcastically but with a mild hint of the warmth he felt suddenly spreading in his chest as he watched Aziraphale sway to the music. Fly Me To The Moon ended and the soft and bouncy tones of L.O.V.E began to spill softly from the record player’s speakers. 

“ _ L, is for the way you look…. at me. _ ”

“ _ O, is for the only one ….I see _ ”

Crowley felt a blush rising to color his sharp cheekbones and looked away under the pretense of searching for his wine glass. 

“ _ Love, is all that I can give…. to you _ ”

“ _ Love, is more than just a game…. for two _ ”

He found the wine glass on a nearby coffee table and busied himself with pouring another drink while Aziraphale continued to sway, entranced by the record player. He’d started shrugging his soft, broad shoulders along with the horn blasts. He turned to where Crowley stood, hiding behind his dark shades and hit the demon with a brilliant smile “This music is just wonderful! Do people dance to it?”

“What a silly question” intoned Crowley, swirling his wine languidly, a helpless grin, sneaking its way across his face, despite his best efforts to smother it. “Couples often dance to it at fancy restaurants and weddings. Frank is a big hit on the wedding circuit.”

“Oh that’s simply lovely!” exclaimed Aziraphale, virtually glowing with joy. He loved love and loved dancing and loved weddings. He loved pretty much everything.  _ Well.. almost everything  _ thought Crowley with a pang of regret. 

The combination of the music, the wine, the sight of Aziraphale’s joy over this new musical discovery, caused intense, decidedly not demonic feelings to well up inside of Crowley. Before he was consciously aware of his actions, he’d placed his wine glass on the table and had stepped up, quite close to Aziraphale. They were suddenly only half a foot away from one another, and Aziraphale momentarily stopped swaying to the music and turned awkwardly to regard Crowley, his face inquisitive and a bit apprehensive, unused to the demon’s proximity. Crowley let his shades slide down his nose and fixed the angel with a smoky look. “I can show you, if you’d like” he heard himself say. Inside his head, an internal voice was yelling expletives at him, but he ignored it. “How to dance.. That is… If you want to”

Aziraphale swallowed audibly. His eyes were large and luminous and unreadable. “Certainly Crowley” he replied with a blush, after only a brief pause, in which Crowley could hear his heart pounding in his ears. “That would be …. nice”. He had to be aware that this was a very stark departure from their usual demeanor of careful avoidance. Crowley usually kept himself physically away from the angel, as much as he could with few exceptions. It helped to keep him focused and sane. He knew his actions were bold and unusual, but he didn’t care. Something about this moment, the two of them alone together,... Aziraphale’s gleeful smiles and swaying shoulders.. had gone to his head. And of course now that the forces of heaven and hell had backed off, they were finally, _ truly  _ alone and unwatched. The sudden realization hit Crowley with the force of five bottles worth of red wine. 

Before he could change his mind, he took another half step closer to the angel and snaked his black clad left arm around Aziraphale’s, white buttoned up waist. Simultaneously he grasped the angel’s hand on the same side and placed it on his left shoulder. He took Aziraphale’s free left hand in his right and pulled him closer. Aziraphale’s large hazel eyes were inches away from his own. His hand felt soft and warm in Crowley’s snake-cool grasp, and Crowley could feel the subtle heat of the angel’s hand on his shoulder, slowly working its way through the thin layers of black cloth jacket and gray silk shirt to descent upon his skin. The arm he’d wrapped around the angel’s waist tingled delightfully. 

I’ve Got You Under My Skin began to float from the record player as Crowley started to sway gently back and forth with Aziraphale in his arms. The angel followed him silently… and surprisingly fluidly for a soft and gently rounded person with zero skill at dancing. Soon, they were swaying as one, taking small steps backwards and forwards in the honey’d glow of Aziraphale’s antique floor lamps.

_ “I’ve got you… under my skin” _

_ “I’ve got you… deep in the heart of me” _

Crowley found his arm tightening around Aziraphale’s soft, warm waist. Felt himself bend his treacherous neck so that his forehead came to rest scandalously against Aziraphale’s pale brow and let his eyes flutter closed. He was drunk on the angel’s smell, of book dust and candle wax and vanilla. He smelled the feramone rich breath, escaping in soft gusts from Aziraphale’s nose, so close to his own

_ “ _ _ I'd tried so... not to give in” _

_ “I said to myself this affair, never will go so well” _

Crowley was lost. He could feel his lips, so extremely, searingly close to the angel’s lips. All he’d need to do was tilt his chin up and they’d be kissing. It was a motion so simple, yet so impossible to imagine. He might as well have been made of stone for all he was capable of making that delicious tilt.. Of capturing those beloved lips with his own. 

_ “I'd sacrifice anything come what might… for the sake of having you near” _

_ “In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night … And repeats, repeats in my ear” _

With sudden, wrenching disappointment, he felt Aziraphale pull back, pulling his brow from Crowley’s, and he could tell the angel was looking at him. With a burst of pure courage, he forced his eyes open to return the angel’s gaze and saw confusion and a hint of pain in Aziraphale’s blue-green eyes. 

“I.. Crowley.. I..” Aziraphale began to speak, softly, stumblingly, but Crowley was fast, far faster than the angel. 

“And  _ that’s _ how you dance to Frank Sinatra!” he exclaimed with a hollow attempt at casual cheer that sounded flat to his suddenly burning ears. He stepped back, releasing Aziraphale unceremoniously and snapped his fingers. Instantly the record and the magical mood vanished as one. 

“Crowley dear.. Don’t be like that” exclaimed Aziraphale with what Crowley thought he imagined as pained disappointment. 

“Be like what?” Crowely snapped back, eyes flashing coldly behind his dark shades. “I’m not being like anything. He smoothed nervous hands down the front of his shirt to dry the dampness that had suddenly sprung to his palms. “Well well… “ he remarked stiffly with false casualness “It’s gotten late. I really should go. I have lots of other things that need my attention.” and before he could give the angel enough time to reject him as he’d clearly been about to do, he fumbled his way out of the shop with a clang of the bell draped door and out to his Bently, leaving a shocked and dismayed Aziraphale behind him and the echo of an incomplete moment hanging dolefully in the air. 

  
  


____________________________________________________________________

  
  


Crowley drove home in a foul mood. He shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have gotten that close and let his walls down so completely.  _ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid  _ He repeated over and over in his head. Looking back though, past the painful memory of Aziraphale pulling back, pulling back and looking at him with those hurt eyes, he acknowledged that the whole thing hadn’t really been a conscious choice. There was only so long he could suppress these feelings. He’d been fighting them for literally centuries on end.. Making carefully casual overtures that Aziraphale blew past like the Bentley blew past red lights in downtown London. Swooping in at the last minute to save Aziraphale when he was in over his head, during the French revolution, during the Blitz.… rescues that the angel thanked him for with all the gratitude of a good friend… without a hint of passion. 

At a certain point, it would become impossible to keep his desires under wraps any longer. He could feel the facade slipping by the day. Why? Why after all these centuries of happily pretending to feel nothing more than friendship (and a friendship full of well placed barbs and snarky comments at that) was he finding it so intensely difficult to keep this well worn mask in place? 

He knew the answer. It was because the stakes were low. The risk was alleviated. They’d withstood not only the ArmageddonThatWasn’t, but they’d also managed to get their respective bosses off their trail. They were free floating, autonomous agents with nowhere to go and nothing in particular to do… and just as when one tries to kick a bad drug habit, boredom was dangerous. Before, when they’d helped each other carry out the odd blessing or temptation, or when they’d bent themselves to the task of training up young Warlock to be a neutral boy, or when they’d been planning how to avoid the End Of All Things, there had been urgent tasks at hand. 

Now though? There was nothing but dinners at the Ritz. Walks through the park. Discussions about books. Intimate evenings over drinks. They were together quite often. Which was wonderful.. amazing… exciting… but without a greater goal, Crowley could no longer distract himself with a plan for “what to do next”. He had nothing now, except his burning desire.. His deep, profound feelings of love. In the silence after the dust settled, they pulled at him, like a series of strong and terrible magnets, pulling insistently at his mind and heart (and parts further south for that matter). His body was tired of waiting for what his mind told him over and over that he couldn’t have. Being close to Aziraphale had slowly morphed into a form of torture, and he was seconds away from breaking, from confessing. 

And why not? He asked himself ruefully, bearing down even harder on the accelerator of the Bentley as he flew through London towards his cold and empty flat. Why ever not? 

But he knew why not. Because it would kill him. To confess. To spill his black, demon’s heart out on the ground in front of Aziraphale and to have the angel simply frown sadly and walk away. If Aziraphale took his light from Crowley’s life, he’d be utterly lost. He’d have no more reason to be on this earth and would happily resign himself to a quick if painful death by holy water. What would be the point if he’d be forced to spend eternity next to the only creature he’d ever loved, this truly, this deeply, this passionately, and to spend it as a platonic friend? Forever barred from touching the angel’s smooth white skin. Forever cursed to look at those lips without kissing them. His left arm, the one that had wrapped around Aziraphale’s warm waist felt emptier than it ever had before he’d used it to embrace the angel. 

He was well and truly fucked. 

__________________________________

When he got home, he made the executive decision to get extremely drunk, and set about the process with enthusiasm. Eventually, the anxiety he felt melted away under the onslaught of multiple glasses of scotch, and he was able to relax a bit. His mind wandered, naturally, towards Aziraphale. He wondered what the silly angel was doing now. Pictured him, bent intently over some dusty tome or some ridiculously obscure book of poems in his back room.. Cup of cocoa cooling at his elbow. The thought made Crowley smile. He drank heavily until the blessed gift of sleep rose up with dark wings and swept him under. His last thought was of Aziraphale’s kind eyes, gazing at him and the angel’s soft hand, held reverently in his own as they’d danced… 

If he hadn’t been so very drunk or so very distracted, he might have noticed the faint whiff of sulfur in the air as he drifted off to sleep...

  
  


___________________________________

Aziraphale was indeed in his shop, leaning over a dusty tome, just as Crowley had imagined. Instead of a cup of cocoa, he had a camomile tea, growing swiftly cold in a well loved blue china cup at his elbow. He was having quite a lot of trouble concentrating.  _ What happened tonight? _ He asked himself quizzically. Crowley had been behaving differently than he’d ever behaved before. Very forward. Very flirtations. If Aziraphale hadn’t known better, he’d have thought that the demon was making a pass. 

He must have been making a pass.. Mustn’t he? How could the offer to dance, the intimate arm around his waist, the gentle touching of hands and foreheads be construed as anything else? 

It had certainly affected Aziraphale as if it had been a lover’s touch.. requesting admittance.. or an invitation to something rather more intimate than they’d ever shared previously. He’d felt his insides twist deliciously and his pulse race at the demon’s gentle touch, at the feel of their bodies swaying together. 

But this had presented a bit of a problem. Aziraphale knew that Crowley loved to tempt others into sin. It was his purpose on earth wasn’t it? To lead people astray. He must have grown bored in the days after the apocalypse had been avoided and had decided to take a stab at it with Aziraphale. To see if he could tempt the untemptable.. Tempt an angel into partaking of the sins of the flesh. It was after all something Aziraphale had never done before.. A fact he assumed Crowley had figured out at this point. 

He also knew that the type of feelings he, Azirphale felt could not ever be returned by Crowley. Crowley had the heart of a snake.. Cold and smooth and without real warmth. He seemed capable of an affable sort of friendship, and was quite a loyal friend really, helping Aziraphale out countless times through the centuries. 

But the quiet and insistent love that Aziraphale had been tending gently like a bonsai garden in his heart for Crowley all these years could not be echoed in the heart of the demon. He knew this for certain. Crowley even liked to make something of a big deal about how NOT sentimental he was towards the angel. Mocking him and jabbing at him playfully, half helpful and encouraging, half condescending and snappish. It was always a game with Crowley. Aziraphale by contrast, felt a strong and steady affection for his backwards and upside down friend. His feelings had grown over the centuries from a simple admiration for the demon’s courage and resourcefulness and humor, into something completely different and complex. Something that burned brightly in Aziraphale’s chest like one of the large, white, wax candles he kept about the shop for nights when the power went out. 

Aziraphale couldn’t quite understand what he felt for Crowley, but he knew that it was very strong, and yet quiet and understated. Aziraphale wasn’t one for broad declarations, unless of course they involved his thoughts on food. He was unused to the passion and the tumultuous feelings Crowley evoked in him, and so didn’t have a language for how to express them, even to himself. 

He called the demon “my dear” and “dear boy” in a vain attempt to give him some clue as to how important he was… he cast tender glances in Crowley’s direction that flew over the demon’s head like the little sparrows that flitted over their heads as they walked together in the park. Aside from that, he just wasn’t comfortable putting himself out further to attract the demon’s attention. He hadn’t the courage or the bold nature that Crowley did. And so he kept his light hidden. Cautious of rocking the boat with someone who’d become so extremely central and important to him. It could be difficult at times, but it was the path he’d set himself to, and he’d have to manage. 

And so when the demon had stepped up close to him and asked him to dance, he hadn’t been able to summon the strength to refuse. He’d thrilled to Crowley’s gentle touch, and he’d yearned to get closer, but then suddenly, it had come to him…

Crowley was bored. Now that the Apocalypse had been averted, he’d essentially lost his job and was now looking for a new hobby, and tempting Aziraphale had seemed an interesting way to spend his time. The thought had anchored itself in Azirphale’s mind, crowding out the gentle tones of Frank Sinatro and the feel of the demon’s soft, cool hand in his own. He’d decided it was time to confront Crowley and find out how he really felt. And to his disappointment, he’d been correct. Upon Aziraphale’s attempt to bring up the subject, the demon had snapped closed like a venus fly trap and had ran off, leaving Aziraphale sad and distracted. 

He sighed deeply and made yet another attempt to focus on the crawling script on the page in front of him. The tea utterly forgotten. 

  
  


________________________________________________________

Beelzebub materialized silently inside Crowley’s walk in closet. She rose up through the floor, sending crumbles of wood and plaster upwards and outwards in a mound that parted slowly to reveal the rising demon, sparks and embers of hellfire spurting out in bright orange sparks as she ascended. She knew her entrance looked very threatening and dramatic. Pity there was no one to witness it except Crowley’s endless racks of black slinky suit jackets and button down shirts, and his rows of pointy, shiny dark shoes. She rolled her eyes at his vanity, though was simultaneously also mildly impressed by the extent of it. 

She took a quick look around her to assess the situation before closing her puss encrusted eyes and opening her mind… searching out the sleeping mind of the demon where he lay sprawled, drunk and snoring softly on the bed in the room beyond the closet door. She’d have to be careful if she was going to tip toe into his mind. It was risky. He could wake up and sense her there if she wasn’t very careful. And she knew he had a temper. She was a high ranking officer in Hell’s army, but she’d witnessed him happily splashing around in a bathtub full of holy water and had no desire to test his loyalty or find out what other tricks he had up his sleeve. This plan had to be executed with deliberate care if it was to work. 

She pushed her mind’s eye, like a tendril of dark smoke, up and out, through the closet door, toward the slumbering demon. Luckily, Crowley was dead to the world. She could sense the booze on his breath and the slow, steady pace of his breathing even from inside the closet. Her wandering mind crept closer and closer, until she could see his eyelashes flutter in his sleep. He was dreaming. She’d soon find out about what. Inside the closet, Beelzebub’s pale mouth twisted into an evil grin. 

Entering another demon’s mind was a delicate process. She reached out a tendril of dark awareness and probed gently at his temple, sending a tiny filament of her conscious mind into his scull and down into his sleeping subconscious. Creeping into the mind of another was sort of like stepping (very quietly so as not to wake them) into an empty room, where the walls and floor and ceiling were all made of movie screens. Images flickered vividly on every surface. Some, only flashes of color, others, complete vignettes, depicted in vivid detail. Beelzebub was shocked and disgusted by what she saw on the walls of Crowley’s mind. 

_ Aziraphale _ . She saw the angel’s imbecilic face everywhere. Images of Aziraphale smiling, Aziraphale laughing. Aziraphale, lost in thought, bent over a book. She heard snatches of conversation between he and Crowley, saw flashes of memories of the two of them, walking in the park. The two of them laughing together over some inane joke. The two of them, standing side by side in defiance in the face of the Dark Lord. The revolting images went on and on and on. 

_ Dear Satan _ , thought Beelzebub, a wicked glee briefly replacing her nausea at the sight of so much unadulterated Aziraphale,  _ The stupid demon is utterly besotted with the angel _ . 

This would be a piece of cake. Love was an easy thing to twist and warp and use against the one who felt it. Despite how strong their connection may have been, or how many times they’d told each other they loved one another, it could be twisted and torn asunder with the right images.. The right doubts placed, the right seeds sewn. Beelzebub was good at twisting the thoughts of others. It was her specialty, and she reveled in it with dark abandon on the occasions that she’d been given the opportunity to do it. 

Still, if she wasn’t subtle, he’d sense that an outside force was meddling with his dreams and he could wake before she’d truly done a number on him. She had to find a kernel of doubt to work with. Right now, all she saw were golden, glowing images of the angel’s happy face. Pure sugary pap. Nothing here to warp and play with. She hesitantly, lightly probed a bit deeper into Crowley’s mind… moving metaphorically a few steps farther into the room of his subconscious…

There it was! She caught a glance of something small and dark out of the corner of her eye and snapped her attention towards it, like a sharp eyed pigeon with a worm in her sight. Curled up in the corner of Crowley’s subconscious was a stormcloud of doubt. In the center of the murky, roiling image was yet another flash of Aziraphale’s face, but the expression that painted the angel’s features was a negative one.  _ Here we go  _ thought Beelzebub with delight. She crept still closer and could see pain and anxiety in the angel’s eyes, swirling about in that small cloud of doubt. “ _ Crowley. _ .” the image spoke in a small, tinny voice that Beelzebub had to strain to hear “ _ I just don’t feel that way about you. I’m so sorry _ ”. 

Beelzebub felt dark, vindictive joy bubbling up inside her. Of course! The angel had rejected him! Or maybe he hadn’t rejected Crowley  _ yet _ .. but….considering that there were no depictions of carnal pleasure mixed in with the loving scenes of Aziraphale’s face and form painting the walls of Crowley’s mind, she assumed that the angel and the demon hadn’t “done the deed” as it were. So it was likely that Crowley had not yet told the angel of his feelings. “Perfect” thought Beelzebub. If Crowley had put his foot in it and had confessed his love and had then  _ actually  _ been rejected, none of these happy, saccharine sweet images would be appearing. There’d be far more anguish and pain expressed by Crowley’s sleeping mind. Not just this one, small, sad little corner of doubt… it was probably made even smaller by how stinking drunk the demon had gotten himself before passing out. But alcohol always shrank problems before magnifying them two fold the next day. Tomorrow would be no fun for the demon she thought with pleasure.. 

It was small, but it would still do. She reached out more tendrils of dark mind magic and grasped the image of Aziraphale, worried and sad.. Aziraphale rejecting Crowley, and pulled the image out larger… like she would widen an image on a smartphone screen, or like adjusting the vision on a collapsible telescope. 

She felt like she needed to do something extra special to torture Crowley. She wanted to get really imaginative…. 

________________________________________________________

Crowley was perfectly happy. He lay, with his head in Aziraphale’s lap on a sunny hillside in the country. They were having a picnic, and a large, wicker basket sat nearby with a bottle of wine and a bowl of very red strawberries sitting atop it. Crowley turned his head languidly so that he could feel his cheek press against the soft material of the angel’s waistcoat and sighed deeply and happily. He could feel Aziraphale’s fingers making lazy circles in his hair, and it sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, all the way to his feet. 

The angel was looking down at him, his large hazel eyes calm and soft. Crowley felt safe and cared for. And a bit woozy, he wasn’t sure why. Somewhere, he was faintly aware of the slight whiff of sulfer, coming to him on the warm breeze. He paid it no mind. How could he be bothered by anything when his angel was here, above him, smiling down with that beautiful face? 

“I love you” he said boldly, clearly. Without shame or anxiety. “I love you so very much my angel”. 

The moment he uttered the words, he suddenly knew he’d done something wrong. The light changed subtly. Clouds scuttled in and blocked the warm summer sun. The air grew slightly cooler, and now, when he looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes, he saw that they had grown serious… no.. not serious.  _ Blank _ . Empty. No feeling behind them at all. The angel spoke, and his voice was flat and toneless

“How pathetic” his eyes were slate gray, and now they were tinged with a mild repugnance. 

Crowley scrambled away from Aziraphale and crouched nearby, his breath heavy in his chest, his heart pounding. It was growing darker and a cold wind had picked up. He felt tears suddenly rush to his eyes. “No” He said with panic starting to lurch deep inside his stomach. “No. I didn’t mean it! I don’t love you. I’m sorry!. We can pretend it never happened!”

Aziraphale sat there, looking at him with eyes now wreathed with open disdain. “Pretend it didn’t happen?” Asked the angel absently. “Pretend  _ what  _ didn’t happen exactly?” A cruel smile played across his once sweetly handsome face… a smile Crowley had never seen anywhere near Aziraphale’s features before, and one that certainly didn’t reach his eyes. “6000 years? Is that what you want to pretend  _ didn’t happen _ ? Well  _ my dear _ ” Crowley flinched at the familiar term of endearment turned into a hateful slur on Aziraphale’s pale lips. “It _ did  _ happen. I had to deal with your simpering, useless excuse for a body, always skulking around after me. I had to deal with you prattling on in my ear for the past  _ Six. Thousand. Years _ . Frankly, it’s been _ torture _ .” 

“No…” Crowley mumbled weakly. He stumbled to his feet and backed up.. Staggered away from the angel, who’s face he loved so dearly, but who now looked at him as if he were a cockroach he longed to crush under his heel. “No.. please… don’t say such things angel” he croaked, his voice breaking as tears started to run down his cheeks. “You can’t mean that”. 

“Oh I can’t?” Asked Aziraphale, and a cruel chuckle bubbled up out his mouth through the gritted teeth of the still resentful smile that remained plastered on his face. He stood slowly, and Crowley noted with dawning confusion that the angel’s jacket and shirt and pants were turning from the pale beige and white he normally wore to a darker hue. Soon, the dark color had spread like spilled ink, up his legs and down his arms and across his chest, like an oily stain,and he was dressed all in black. His skin was a paler than usual. Alabaster. And his eyes had changed as well.. They had turned yellow with black slits in them. 

Crowley felt his mind reel with a sharp terror that rose up in him suddenly at the sight. Aziraphale, pure and perfect and lovely now stood before him a demon like himself.    
  


“ _ You did this to me _ ” The angel said with a hissing sneer. “You, rubbing up against me, whispering to me, laughing at me, teaching me your evil ways all these years.  _ You _ turned me into this…”

As he spoke, Crowley saw a huge set of black, feathered wings unfold from behind him and reach up into the now darkened and storm roiled sky. Crowley had covered his mouth with his hands in horror, backing up slowly away from Aziraphale, eyes wide and streaming with tears. In the blink of an eye, Aziraphale was standing over him. His smile a rictus of hate, and with one swift and fluid movement, he pulled a black blade from a fold in his coat and plunged it into Crowley’s heart. 

Crowley woke screaming, clawing the bed sheets off and away from him, sweat soaked, gasping and horrified. 

Inside his closet, Beelzebub smiled a satisfied smile. She withdrew the questing, meddling tendrils of her dark mind magic from Crowley’s brain and sank quietly back down into the floor. This had gone better than she could have imagined. Gabriel would love it when he heard how successful her mission had been. She still had the demon’s panicked cries echoing in her head as she sunk back down to her offices far below the earth’s surface... It was a satisfying sound. 

_________________________________________________________________

It took Aziraphale a couple of days to build up the courage to call Crowley. He figured he’d need to give the demon time to cool off and redirect his casual urges for mischief somewhere else. Let him play at tempting humans for a bit so that he stopped looking to Aziraphale as a focal point for his boredom or his random libidinous urges, or whatever had pushed him to actually hit on the angel. 

But it only took two days. After that, Aziraphale missed the salty presence of his cynical friend. He noticed with dismay that where once he’d been relatively fine not seeing Crowley for a few years at a stretch...sometimes an entire century (the demon had slept through an entire century once after all), he now missed the demon after a few short days. 

He took a deep breath and screwing up his courage, he carefully dialed Crowley’s number on his 70 year old rotary phone. 

The phone rang and rang and then Crowley’s ancient (to Crowley, not to Aziraphale) answering machine picked up. “Hello. You know what to do” drawled Crowley’s familiar voice. Then the beep…

“Hello Crowely!” Piped Aziraphale a bit too loudly and cheerfully. “I hope you’re doing well today. Would you care to go for a stroll in St. James with me later?… maybe go for a bite at that new Italian place? Ring me back when you get this. Or, you know, whenever is most convenient for you. Thank you. I hope to talk to you soon” - being smooth or perfunctory wasn’t Aziraphale’s strong suit. 

It was unlike Crowley not to pick up the phone. It was unlike Crowley to stay away from Aziraphale for more than a day or two. They didn’t see one another every day, but they communicated somehow on a daily basis. Through phone calls usually. Or Crowley would simply magic a post it note onto Aziraphale’s fridge with a short message (“Drinks tomorrow night?” or “Sell a book today angel, it won’t kill you”) scrawled on it in Crowley’s black, spidery hand. 

Aziraphale was a bit worried. After they’d left things the other night, what with Crowley storming out of the book shop… it left an uneasy feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. He decided to give it another day, and if he didn’t hear back from the angel by then, he’d go over there and bother him in person. 

_____________________________________________________________

“It was a thing of beauty” declared Beelzebub smugly. 

Gabriel, looking down his nose at her with mild disdain was curious for details. “What exactly did you do to him?”

“I reached into his head and twisted his good dreams into very, VERY bad ones” grinned Beelzebub. She had a new cluster of dark pustules gathered about the corner of her mouth, and her smile only made them more obvious. Gabriel felt mildly nauseous. But he knew he should give credit where credit was due. 

“Good job” he said grudgingly. Was he… upset?” 

Beelzebub spluttered out a noise that Gabriel assumed was incredulous laughter. “Upset?” she drawled sarcastically. “ _ Upset _ ??? He was bloody  _ miserable _ . He was screaming when I left him”. Gabriel’s already smug smile became broader and, if possible, even smugger. He was indeed pleased by the news of the demon’s torment. He’d loathed Crowley since the very beginning. Crowley with all his questions and his sass. 

“This may not come as a total surprise to you” continued Beelzebub conspiratorially with a glint in her dark eye, “but he’s utterly besotted with the angel.”

“Well well…” muttered Gabriel thoughtfully. “That  _ is  _ something of a surprise. I honestly didn’t think he had it in him.” His expression turned reflective for a moment. “seriously suspected they just had a (he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought) close working relationship.” Discussing how the angel and the demon felt about each other made him more than a little uncomfortable. Angels didn’t engage in messy things like sex or romantic love. Or rather, very few of them did, and those who managed it were looked on as sort of disgraced black sheep. Gabriel himself had the soul of a vindictive, mid level office manager. He was a stuffed shirt through and through and couldn’t imagine something as unplanned and disorganized as love, or heaven forbid.. Sex, being pleasant or productive. 

“But what about Aziraphale?” he asked, suddenly concerned. How exactly do we get to  _ him.  _ He shouldn’t be allowed to get off scott free.”

“Oh don’t worry about Aziraphale” smiled Beelzebub, in her greasy, unsettling way. “The demon is a domino piece. When he falls, he’ll knock the angel down with him. They’re quite close, and so turmoil caused to the one will undoubtedly cause pain for the other.”

Gabriel was skepitcal, but Beelzebub was a demon after all. The Duke Of Hell. She knew her tortures. And honestly, because God had sort of explicitly stated that the two were not to be “touched”, this would have to do. He quickly thanked Beelzebob again and excused himself back to heaven, buoyed by a feeling of satisfaction over a job well done (even a job not done by him personally). 

___________________________________________________________

Crowley had finally calmed down, but it had taken several long minutes. Upon first waking, he’d scrabbled with desperate hands at his chest, ripping his silk shirt away, where he’d so vividly felt Aziraphale plunge the dark blade in his nightmare, desperate fingers, searching for a stab wound that wasn’t there. 

A nightmare. That’s all it had been. 

His ragged, gasping breaths slowed very gradually and his pounding heart just as slowly decelerated as his wide eyes flitted helplessly about his empty bedroom. He was soaked in sweat, which was unusual, as his natural, reptilian blood temperature was always a bit lower than that of human beings… and much cooler than the heat that he felt radiating off the angel whenever he was near. 

The angel…

Unbidden, images of a sneering, disgusted Aziraphale, leaning over him with a black knife in his hands, raised to strike, came flooding into Crowley’s brain. He gasped anew and curled himself into a ball on the ruined bedsheets, unconsciously reaching his arms up to cover his head in self defense. A new fit of heart pounding panic gripped him, until slowly, with careful precision, he could grab ahold of his nervous system and bend it to his will. He’d grown accustomed to controlling his body’s reactions over the millennia. It was one of the only reasons he was able to refrain from turning into an embarrassing mess when he spent time with Aziraphale. 

_ Aziraphale _ . His heart threatened to kick back into action again and he took a deep, calming breath, sitting up and running his hands through his sweat soaked hair. He’d never had a bad dream quite that  _ bad _ before. He got ahold of himself, and swung his slender legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, head in his hands, trying to assess the situation. 

Unlike the angel, Crowley enjoyed sleeping quite a bit. And he did dream now and then. Usually fuzzy, unclear impressions of images. Pictures from before the fall…, anxiety dreams of being stuck, doing paperwork in a stuffy underground office in Hell, or, more commonly and very pleasantly, dreams in which a soft voice said his name, and a pair of finely shaped hands, hands that were mostly used to turn the pages of time yellowed books, ran themselves through his hair or framed his face. He loved those dreams of Aziraphale, and had thought originally that he was having the nicest of such dreams… before it had all gone terribly wrong. 

_ It must have been the dancing. _ . His scattered brain spat out the thought and he cringed with recognition.  _ Yes, that must be it _ . The thing that had changed. He’d crossed a boundary, and now he felt guilt and shame over it. That must have been what had tripped off the terrible nightmare. 

The words of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” crept sneakily back into his mind

_ Don't you know, little fool _

_ You never can win  _

_ Use your mentality  _

_ Wake up to reality  _

Wake up to reality indeed.

He stumbled up awkwardly from the bed and went to take a shower. He was perfectly capable of cleaning himself completely with the snap of his fingers, but instead, he enjoyed the comforting heat and sweet smell of the soap that a shower would bring. Crowley decided not to reach out to Aziraphale today. The thought of avoiding the angel brought him pain, but he didn’t think he had the courage to look him in the eye for the time being. 

As the next two days wore on, Crowley resolutely ignored the phone calls from Aziraphale. The increasingly worried voicemails… even though it dug at his heart to hear the angel’s fear and worry, coming across through the spools of the 30 year old answering machine. 

Aziraphale had even magicked a post it note onto the demon’s refrigerator door.

_ Have I done something wrong?  _ Simple and painful.. Scribbled in Aziraphale’s ancient, barely legible handwriting, full of curley Qs and flourishes. 

What was he supposed to do? The dream had really messed with his head. What if his needy, passionate, violent lust for Aziraphale had in fact warped the angel over the millennia? What if the pain and sadness in the angel’s eyes when he’d broken their embrace the other night had been a precursor for the heartless, cold tone the Aziraphale had used inside his nightmare? What if he secretly hated Crowley? The thoughts swirled around and around in his head. 

He couldn’t sleep the next night, or the night after that. He did however start drinking again, in a way that he knew would send a mortal person to the intensive care ward. Alcohol, with its burning fumes and merciless numbing heat was the only thing that quelled his anxiety, even if only temporarily.

The only problem was, that when Crowley drank, he eventually slept. It was a habit of his, to pass out in a very human way when drunk. He tried to avoid it for as long as he could, pacing himself so that the whiskey and wine wouldn’t overtake his senses too much, but so that he could also keep his dark thoughts at bay. Aziraphale’s ice cold eyes were his constant companion. Echoes of Aziraphale’s cruel voice and images of his beautiful mouth, twisted into a sneer kept creeping slowly through Crowley’s head. 

At some point, late in the morning of the fourth day since the nightmare, Crowely finally succumbed to sleep. Curled up with an almost empty wine bottle in his arms, wishing blearily that it was an angel’s warm body he cradled, he finally let sleep take him. If he’d been on his game… well rested and happy, he never would have even needed it, but as it was, he was exhausted in his mind and soul, and it was easy to finally let sleep win and drag him down into the darkness of unconsciousness

____________________________________________

He opened his eyes slowly. The smell of sulfur was immediately apparent in his nostrils, which was odd because he was clearly somewhere in heaven. He knelt, on a slate gray, marble floor that shone as if polished on a daily basis. Shining white and gray walls rose up around him and he realized he was kneeling in a large chamber. One of Heaven’s cavernous halls he presumed. He tried to get his hands under him to stand and realized with sudden dismay that his hands were shackled in dark chains that connected to the floor so that he could only reach his arms up about a half a foot before they were pulled back with a rattle of linked iron. 

Fear suddenly crept with icy fingers up his spine. 

He shouldn’t be here. And why did it smell so strongly of sulfer? 

He heard a faint whooshing sound and looked over to a corner of the great room, where a door had slid smoothly open, admitting four figures. He recognized them all immediately with a sinking heart. Hastur, Beelzebob, Sandalphon and … (he felt his face flush with anger) Gabriel. That smug, pompous, uncaring waste of wings who’d heartlessly told Aziraphale to “shut up and die already” was leading the little procession as they crossed the polished floor to where Crowley knelt. Crowley felt his hands twitch to wrap around Gabriel’s throat… suddenly longing to beat the smug expression from the archangel’s face. This couldn’t be good. At least it explained the sulfer smell. Most demons who spent a lot of time in Hell reeked of it.

_______________

It didn’t explain it actually. He smelled sulfur because Beelzebub was back in his closet, standing patiently in the darkness among the demon’s clothes and hat boxes, delightedly messing about in his sleeping mind again. After the last nightmare had gone over so swimmingly, Beelzebob had itched to have the chance to one up herself. Unfortunately, it had been a bit of a (relatively) long wait as Crowley had been too unsettled to sleep in the intervening days since her last little experiment. But eventually, he’d succumbed, allowing Beelzebub the much awaited chance to try her craft again. She carefully sifted through Crowley’s mental images.. Noting with pleasure that there were many many more dark storm clouds among the golden flickers of positive dream shapes littering the canvas of his sleeping mind. Her plan was working… 

____________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


Meanwhile, Aziraphale was really starting to worry. Now three days had passed. Crowley hadn’t returned his calls (three of them now, with slowly mounting levels of nervous anxiety exhibited in each voicemail he left the demon). No post it notes from the demon. No visits to the shop. Aziraphale was well and truly worried. He’d even magicked a post it note of his own over to Crowely’s fridge when he’d gotten desperate, but there had been no reply. 

Whatever could he have done to make Crowley disappear like this? He knew it had to be connected to the interrupted slow dance they’d shared.. The dance that Crowley had initiated three nights ago. Perhaps Crowley was insulted? Put off? Or maybe he’d finally realized what Aziraphale feared was the truth. That he was tired of Aziraphale. After 6,000 years of being around him, the demon had simply lost interest. Now that the Armageddon had been averted and instant obliteration wasn’t looming on the immediate horizon any longer, maybe Crowley had realized that Aziraphale was a giant, boring, pastry obsessed librarian with no sense of humor… 

The thought pained Aziraphale deeply. But still… He worried that perhaps something had happened to Crowley. Regardless of how the demon felt about him, and regardless of the fact that unlike Crowley, Aziraphale wasn’t in the habit of barging into other people’s flats unannounced, he decided it was high time he paid the demon a visit. 

A light rain had started to fall, so Aziraphale donned his fitted, cream colored jacket, grabbed his favorite tartan umbrella, (yes, he had more than one tartan umbrella) and, suppressing a feeling of mild trepidation, set out in the direction of Crowley’s flat. 

___________________________________________________________

He was on trial. Crowely suddenly realized with a feeling of dread. He was on trial in heaven. Before him, where he still knelt on the cold, marble floor, a tall podium had risen up, smoothly and seamlessly from the ground. Hastur, Beelzebub and the two angels stood to the side, faces unreadable.. They appeared to be waiting for something. Or someone. 

They didn’t have to wait long. Another door swished open in a wall to Crowley’s left, and in walked Aziraphale. Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the angel. Aziraphale was dressed in tattered, stained robes that might have been white at some point in time, but now were covered with what looked like dirt and dried blood. He looked gaunt, and exhausted. 

_ They’ve tortured him _ .. the thought sent icy fingers of rage and dread down Crowley’s spine. Those bastards had tortured his angel. 

_ His angel?  _ Hadn’t he already been shown ample evidence that Aziraphale didn’t return his affections? That the angel was disgusted and disturbed by Crowley? 

_ But that was just in a dream _ his sleeping mind reminded him distantly. He ignored the thought. It was too far away to truly register. What was right in front of him however, was Azirahphale, shuffling towards the podium in the center of the hall, which wasn’t more than two or three yards from where Crowley knelt, chained. 

With shock and anger, Crowely realized that Aziraphale was shackled as well, his ankles clamped together with irons and joined by chains. Just as his wrists had been in that French dungeon, over two hundred years ago. Crowley had hated the sight then and he hated it now. He felt his fists clench in rage as Aziraphale finished his shambling walk, eyes haunted and shoulders slumped to the podium. 

“We’ve gathered here today” began Gabriel in that insufferable tone of his, full of condescension and pompous self importance “to hear the confession of the fallen angel Aziraphale”

Fallen?? Had they really cast the angel out of heaven? 

Crowley suddenly felt desperate. Desperate to go to Aziraphale. To wrap his arms around him and to comfort him. Or to smash in the faces of the demons and angels (especially Gabriel), who stood by, impassively watching Aziraphale cower before them.. As if they were watching a television program they weren’t even that invested in. He made a mental note that the second he got out of his chains, he’d burn them all in blasts of hellfire… magic them to the center of a broiling vulcano... Or pluck their eyes out with his black painted fingernails if he had to. They would all die. He gritted his teeth and waited to see what happened next. It was really all he could do. 

“Aziraphale!” piped up Beelzebub, managing to sound officious and bored at the same time “You stand before us accused of the worst crime an angel can commit. Do you understand the gravity of the situation in which you find yourself today?”

Aziraphale said nothing, but nodded, eyes cast down. His halo of white gold hair dulled by sweat, dust and old blood. Crowley suddenly noticed a wound at his temple, rust colored and quite deep above his left eye and felt himself seeth inside with renewed ire. How  _ dare  _ they? How  _ dare they  _ harm a hair on the angel’s sweet head? He felt the nails of his fingers cutting into his palms as he clenched his fists, white knuckled at his sides. 

“Good” remarked Beelzebub, as if she couldn’t care less. “Gabriel. Would you please read the list of his crimes so we can get on with the proceedings?” 

“Certainly.” Gabriel stepped forward, hands smoothing down the lapels of his slate gray, nauseatingly corporate business suit jacket. “Aziraphale, once a principality of heaven, you have been cast out of the legion of angels for committing the following crimes.

“You have indulged in earthly pleasures. Eating piles and piles of pastries and sushi and curry and cakes. You’ve made a complete glutton of yourself and you should be ashamed”

Aziraphale hung his head, but nodded dejectedly along with Gabriel’s words. Admitting guilt. 

Crowley could not help but smile a tiny bit inside of his fear and anger. Yes, the angel was a complete glutton. And that’s part of why Crowley loved him so much. He ate life up as if it were a bowl of ice cream (along with many bowls of literal ice cream over the years). He enjoyed all the delicious delicacies earth and humanity had to offer. It was charming in the extreme. Crowley couldn’t imagine this to be an actual sin. Stupid, stuffy angels. At least Hell knew how to indulge in sin properly. If you wanted to eat six cartons of cheap Chinese take out without pausing to chew, no one would turn their nose up at you down there. 

“Furthermore” intoned Gabriel as Hastur and Ligur and Beelzebob stood around, looking disaffected. “You’ve been slothful. Spending decades at a stretch sitting around doing nothing but reading your  _ little books _ ” The last two words were loaded with as much cynical disparagement as Gabriel could muster… which was quite a lot. He was Gabriel after all. “You’ve wasted countless hours doing nothing but indulging your own selfish desire to consume human knowledge, when you should have been striving to perform God’s work.” Aziraphale looked up suddenly, his mournful eyes unspeakably sad. Oh how the angel loved his books. It made Crowley secretly very happy to watch Aziraphale lost in a book, his small, round reading glasses perched on his nose, a forgotten plate of cookies or a cocoa nearby. It dragged at Crowley’s heart to see the angel castigated over something he loved so much, but he perked up a bit, hoping the angel would say something in his own defense. Aziraphale though simply nodded in agreement.  _ Why won’t he speak up? _ wondered Crowley with anguish. 

“Hey now!!” he heard himself shout out angrily. “There’s nothing wrong wi” 

“Shut up!” Growled Hastur, “The witness is to remain quiet until he’s called upon to testify.” He cast a scornful black glare in Crowley’s direction and the shackles around Crowley’s wrists tightened painfully.  _ Testify? _ Crowley felt a bloom of cold fear unfurling deep in his stomach. Whatever could they want him to testify about? 

But that was soon made apparent. 

“And now Aziraphale” Gabriel intoned condescendingly “We come to your most egregious crime. Something so foul and sinful that the court submits that you shall face the gravest of punishments if you are to be found guilty.”

Crowley’s already cold blood ran icy at hearing these words. He had a feeling of mounting dread arising inside him. This couldn’t end well… 

_______________________________________________________________________

Aziraphale stood awkwardly in front of door of Crowley’s flat, wringing his hands in uncertainty. He’d knocked several times and there was no response. But he could sense the demon inside…. He hadn’t spent six thousand years around Crowley without picking up a certain vibration that surrounded him. The demon was definitely somewhere in that flat. But he wasn’t responding to Aziraphale’s knocks.  _ He must be very angry with me indeed  _ thought Aziraphale. Or …. He felt a chill of sudden fear…  _ maybe he’s in trouble of some kind _ . Could he be wounded? Sick? He’d never seen the demon sick before. Neither of them were susceptible to human illness. 

He decided it was time to stop being shy. So he summoned up his courage and opened the door to Crowley’s flat and stepped inside. It was quiet, and there was the faint smell of sulfur hanging in the air. This was concerning to Aziraphale, as Crowley himself did not smell of sulfur. He smelled of fancy cologne, of whiskey, of high end hair product, and of something else, dark and ancient but not unpleasant, like the forest floor in a wood where the trees were older than time. If Aziraphale was honest with himself, he had to admit that he loved the way Crowley smelled. And sulfur was not part of the demon’s scent. It heightened the angel’s sense that something here was not right. 

“Crowley?” he called out hesitantly, but got no response. There was no sound at all in the flat, other than the distant sound of traffic in the street below. Aziraphale walked further into the flat, noting with disapproval several empty bottles of alcohol of varying vintages, shapes and sizes strewn about the flat. No dishes or take out containers, so the demon hadn’t been eating recently. Aside from the empty bottles, there was nothing else of note in the main room of Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale crept quietly towards the bedroom, feeling his apprehension grow with every step. Something was indeed wrong. 

He slowly, cautiously opened the door to Crowley’s bedroom, and at first felt a rush of relief at what he saw inside. Crowley himself, sprawled on the messy bed, limbs splayed in every direction, his face turned away from the door. Clearly the demon was asleep.

_ Oh  _ thought Aziraphale.  _ He was only napping _ . Taking a deep breath to dispel the anxiety that had been building in his chest, he crept closer to the bed, taking this rare opportunity to study the demon while he slept. Crowley’s arms and legs, slender and wirey were splayed wide.. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the narrowness of his dark clad waist, half wrapped in a black silk shirt. He gazed at the gentle rise and fall of Crowley’s stomach and chest as he breathed in and out. His red tinged tresses were tousled and in utter disarray. He was barefoot and the angel noted with affection Crowley’s pale and beautifully shaped foot, with long toes and delicate arch poking out from a fold in the messy sheets. He was lovely. Beautiful. Almost angelic. Aziraphale felt his heart swell with deep affection for the sleeping demon. 

He cautiously walked around the side of the bed so that he could study Crowley’s sleeping face… and that’s when he realized with a sudden, cold jolt of apprehension that all was  _ not  _ well. Crowley’s face was a study in anxiety. His brows were knitted together sharply over eyes that were squeezed shut. His mouth was twisted into a grimace, showing glints of his sharp, perfectly white teeth. He looked pained. He looked scared. 

“Oh dear lord” breathed Aziraphale. “This isn’t good at all”. Now he noticed that Crowley’s face and hair were damp with sweat and that his chest where it was exposed by his open shirt was also shining with perspiration. As he watched, Crowley’s breathing increased, his chest and belly rising and falling at a faster pace, and the grimace on his face deepened. 

Aziraphale leaned over the bed and grasped Crowley by the slender shoulders and shook him gently. “Crowley my dear.” He whispered softly, not wanting to alarm the demon. “It’s time to wake up now”. 

Nothing happened. Crowley’s eyes stayed closed. His breathing continued to be ragged and uneven. Aziraphale grew fearful. He shook Crowley more forcefully. “Come on now Crowley!” he added a sharp, disapproving tone to his voice that had always gotten the demon’s attention in the past. “Up and at em my boy!”. Crowley still did not wake, but he made a low moan, deep in his throat. 

Aziraphale had had quite enough of this. Abandoning Crowley’s shoulders, he knelt by the side of the bed and took Crowley’s sleeping face in his hands. He yelled (something he wasn’t usually comfortable with) directly into Crowley’s face “Wake up you insufferable demon!! Wake up this very instant! You’re scaring me now!” 

No response. Crowely’s eyes remained screwed shut, his mouth twisted in an anguished sneer. “You’re scaring me…” repeated Aziraphale again helplessly, the demon’s unconscious face still framed with his hands. “Please wake up” he pleaded softly. 

_________________________________________________________________

Deep in the recesses of Crowley’s walk in closet, Beelzebub smiled a joyful, wicked smile. This had just gotten a lot more interesting. She could feel waves of anxiety and pain radiating from the angel the minute he’d stepped into the flat. And it had only gotten stronger when he’d realized that Crowley was gripped in the clutches of the nightmare she had orchestrated.  _ Oh this was going to be fun.  _

_______________________________________________________________________

“Your worst crime yet” Continued Gabriel, smug satisfaction dripping from every word in a way that made Crowley want to throttle him, “Is the one upon which your fate rests today.

“Aziraphale, once the guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, you stand before us accused of the worst crime imaginable. That of… “ and here he paused for dramatic affect, 

“Consorting with a demon”. 

_ Oh nooo _ thought Crowley with a stab of anguish.  _ Oh dear Satan no _ .. this was very bad. This was what he and Aziraphale had struggled to hide from their respective sides for so many centuries. Their secret connection. Their secret friendship. How the one had helped the other through the years to lighten not only the load of work, but also the load of the loneliness they’d only realized they’d been laboring under when they’d felt it eased in each other’s company. Aziraphale had always made it clear that if his superiors were to ever find out about he and Crowley that they’d be very angry… possibly murderously angry. Wrathful as it were. And now it appeared that the secret was out. 

Crowley felt his stomach drop and his skin tingle with dread. Aziraphale didn’t speak. He only stood, head down, hands in shackles clasped submissively in front of him as he had for the majority of the trial. 

“We call upon the demon Crowley as a witness!” spoke Sandalphon, his gold teeth glinting as he pointed a stubby finger in Crowley’s direction. “What say you in response to the accusation that the angel Aziraphale has been consorting with you Crowley? Do you have any evidence to the contrary?”

Crowley was momentarily at a loss for words. He was certain this was now how normal court proceedings were supposed to go, but also, he was struck with fear at saying the wrong thing. 

“I… “ he began falteringly, then decided to throw all his energy into a complete and utter falsehood in a vain attempt to try and shield the angel. “I have no evidence to the contrary simply because I haven’t been consorting with him at all. How can you prove that you’re NOT doing something? I simply haven’t been anywhere near Aziraphale, not in all the time I’ve been on earth.” It sounded stupid, and desperate, even to his own ears, but it was all he had at the moment, chained to the floor. 

Sandalphon grinned in a way Crowley did not like at all “But see here!” he pronounced loudly, making a broad gesture to a flat screen television that had suddenly appeared to the side of the podium. “The demon lies! Look members of the trial upon the lies that spill so easily from his lips!”

To Crowley’s dismay, the TV screen lit up with images of he and Aziraphale, walking in the park. He and Aziraphale, sitting across from one another in a restaurant. He and Aziraphale, debating animatedly in the back of the angel’s bookshop. Crowley felt suddenly violated and very vulnerable. How had they known? Had there been (he gulped) cameras?

Little did he know that the images were ones pulled from his own memory, and that this was all a carefully constructed nightmare of Beelzebub’s making. 

He decided to change tactics. “Well… yeah… sure” he spluttered, struggling to sound casual and unaffected by the irrefutable proof that he and Aziraphale were constantly in each other’s company. “You see, this was all part of my plan”

“Plan?” asked Gabriel 

“Of course!” drawled Crowley in his best attempt to sound cavalier “My plan to gain the angel’s trust so that I could keep an eye on him and thwart his good works in the world. I had no emotional investment in it. It was simply a ploy to … well to… make sure he failed in all his dealings.” Suddenly realizing that this would also implicate the angel, he added quickly “He had no idea! And what’s more, he rebuffed all my attempts to tempt him into evil deeds. He’s a very good angel really.” He sensed the note of desperation in his voice creeping towards panic, and prayed they wouldn’t notice. 

“Is this true Aziraphale?” Asked Beelzebub lazily, turning to face the angel with a look of pure boredom on her face. “Were you not tempted by him into friendship? Were you a ….  _ Good _ angel”

Aziraphale looked up dolefully. His eyes full of shadows and pain. Crowley felt as if his heart was breaking at the sight. “He’s lying.” Aziraphale said in a small voice, full of resignation 

“Aziraphale! Don’t!” cried Crowley, but the angel raised shackled hands in a supplicating motion, silently pleading with Crowley not to intervene and so he fell silent. 

“He was my closest and best friend.” continued Aziraphale to Crowley’s utter horror. “He came to me when I was in need and he succeeded in tempting me into committing multiple devilish acts.” The angel sighed in pained resignation and Crowley felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “I believed every word he said. And I followed him willfully. I am indeed guilty of the sin of consorting…. Of fraternizing with a demon.” 

“Oh angel” Crowley felt tears well up in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. “ _ Oh no _ angel. Why?” he asked softly. Aziraphale looked up again with pained resignation, but didn’t speak further. His eyes met Crowley’s and Crowley could see a sad smile play across his lips. 

“Now that you have confessed” purred Gabriel, suddenly sounding delighted in a way that would have made Crowley’s blood boil in rage if he hadn’t already been so terrified. “It is time that you were punished accordingly. The punishment for consorting with a demon, for turning against your own kind and for thwarting the will of God in heaven is…. “ again, another pause for dramatic effect.. 

_ “Death” _

Crowley heard someone screaming, and it wasn’t for several seconds before he realized that the sound was coming from his own throat. “Noooo! Nooooooo! No you can’t! You  _ CAN’T! _ I’ll kill all of you!!” he screamed in anguish, his hands shooting up in vengeful claws, only to be stopped short by the rattling chains that kept him tethered and on his knees. 

_______________________________________________________

Aziraphale jumped, his hands flying from Crowley’s face as the demon let out an anguished scream, his back arching from the bed. The angel immediately clambered up next to him to kneel on to the bed and gathered Crowley in his arms. The demon thrashed, trying to escape, but Aziraphale was determined. He embraced Crowley tightly, holding him against his chest as if he were a child and held on for dear life while the demon’s arms flailed about and he peddled his legs as if trying to run. Dear God thought Aziraphale. What was happening to his poor demon? He felt fear and sadness spike through his blood, but under it all was a rock solid determination. If he couldn’t wake Crowley and end this nightmare, this trance he was under, he would at least be there… he’d let Crowley feel him there in the only way he could. He squeezed the demon tighter against him, reaching a hand up to stroke Crowley’s sweat damp hair and started to rock him back and forth gently, making reassuring cooing noises. “There there my dear” He muttered softly. “There there. Its OK. I’m here now.” He felt more than a little self conscious. He’d never before touched the demon this way, but it was the only thing he could think to do… and if Crowley woke up, disturbed at being tightly embraced by an angel, well, it was better to ask for forgiveness than it was to ask permission wasn’t it? (this was a phrase he had in fact picked up from the demon). He hung onto Crowley for dear life and prayed that whatever dark forces had him in their clutches would dissipate soon. 

__________________________________________________________________

Gabriel and the rest seemed completely unmoved by Crowley’s screams of anguish. That’s what was so horrible, thought Crowley absently through a mind half mad with grief. They were so infuriatingly casual. They had just casually condemned his angel to death, and they looked positively bored by it. 

He struggled in vain to escape his bonds, “You MONSTERS! You …. You can’t kill him… You can’t. He’s too good! He’s so very very good! He’s done nothing wrong!” to his horror, he saw Sandalphon produce a large, flaming sword from nowhere.  _ Aziraphale’s sword,  _ and begin to advance on the angel where he stood, desolately by the podium, head down, hands shackled, shoulders slumped. 

Please! PLEASE” He wasn’t even ashamed as he felt himself start to beg. He was desperate. “Please don’t!” he screamed in anguish. “Take me instead. Kill me! I’m worthless! I mean nothing! I tempted him to it! It wasn’t his fault! Take me! Please! I beg you! Take me!!”

Sandalphon ignored him, and continued to walk slowly and inexorably towards the angel. He lowered the sword and, to Crowley’s horror, he touched the tip of it to the center of Aziraphale’s chest, right where his heart would be. “For your crimes Angel, you shall burn” he intoned blandly, and Aziraphale was suddenly wreathed in flames. 

Crowley’s mind went sideways. His eyes filled with tears and he felt screams rising up inside his throat and escaping forth in a torrent of anguish. 

____________________________________________________

Beelzebub was so enthralled in the orchestration of this delicious little scene that she barely noticed the woman who materialized at her side in the darkness of the closet. The woman was middle aged, pleasant looking, with gray hair that was cut short and stylishly. She wore a pair of black pants and a white blouse cinched fashionably about her waist with a gray belt. She sighed impatiently and tapped Beelzebob on the shoulder. The demon turned distractedly, and upon seeing the woman, her mouth dropped open and she gasped in terror.

“Yes” said God matter of factly. “It’s Me. I think you’ve done enough mischief for now don’t you?” She asked a petrified Beelzebub before snapping her fingers. Beelzebub promptly disappeared. Her stench of sulfur went with her. “There” said the woman to the rows of Crowley’s dark shirts. “That’s better. If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to tie them together with twine and leave them alone on the top of a very tall mountain”. And with that, she disappeared in the blink of an eye, just as quickly as she’d appeared. A faint glow hung in the air where her body had been, and the closet was once again empty.

________________________________________________________________

In the bedroom, Crowley immediately stopped screaming.. His eyes snapped open. Aziraphale couldn’t see him being that he was still fiercely embracing the demon, but soon felt Crowley’s hands move with sudden, conscious purpose as he pushed himself away from Aziraphale to stare at him, eyes wide with terror, mouth agape, tears running down his face. 

“Oh good!!” piped Aziraphale, happiness and relief warring for supremacy on his glowing face. “You’re awake!” His joy was immediately tempered by the horrified look on Crowley’s anguished face. “Oh dear! Oh no, my dearest! What’s wrong?” Aziraphale placed a concerned hand to Crowley’s sweat dampened cheek.. His eyes full of deep concern. 

Crowley opened and closed his mouth several times, at a complete loss for words. His chest was still heaving, his heart still pounding, his wide eyes roamed hungrily over Aziraphale’s face. “They…” he stuttered, his voice faint and full of emotion. He brought desperate, questing hands up to Aziaphale’s face.. Felt his cheeks, his neck, his forehead.. As if he were trying to memorize the angel’s features with his hands. “They.. they muh - murdered you” his voice was shaking. And with that, fresh tears sprang to his eyes and spilled helplessly down his cheeks. He quickly wrapped his arms around a shocked Aziraphale and hugged him fiercely as the angel sat, warm and unmoving next to him on the edge of the bed. Aziaphale could do nothing but let the traumatized demon embrace him. He was surprised to feel tears coming to his own eyes in sympathy for his friend’s anguish. This was more physical contact than Crowley had ever bestowed upon him in all the time they’d been acquainted, and at any other time, he’d be overjoyed, but now he was simply worried and sad for Crowley. 

Crowley clung tightly to Aziraphale and wept, and Aziraphale did his part to be comforting, stroking Crowley’s sweat damp hair and making supportive cooing sounds. “I’m here now dearest. I’m here. It’s alright. Nothing’s happened. I’m here” He repeated it, softly like a mantra.

The demon’s sobs slowed and eventually stopped. His shuddering breaths calmed and returned to normal. They stayed that way, Aziraphale, sitting on the edge of Crowley’s bed, the demon wrapped in his warm embrace for what felt like quite a long time. Not that Aziraphale minded. Not only was Crowley awake and hopefully unharmed, but he had to admit that he was quite happy to finally have the demon in his arms this completely. He only wished it had been under better circumstances. Eventually he felt Crowley sigh deeply and pull away again. Just enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes. 

“It was a nightmare” he explained,, “but worse, far worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had before.”

“What was it about Crowley?” Asked Aziraphale with warm concern. “I’ve heard many a human say that you have to speak your nightmare out loud to someone in order to dispel it’s power. If it would help, won’t you tell me what you saw?”

Crowley’s gaze suddenly became wary. He dropped his eyes from Aziraphale’s and moved to pull himself further out of their embrace. Aziraphale let him, regretfully. He felt certain he could stay wrapped in Crowley’s arms for a very long time, but he wanted to give the demon his space. 

Crowley sat further up in his bed and looked down at his sweat soaked clothing and ruined bedsheets. He sighed regretfully and snapped his fingers, and in an instant, he was clean and dressed in a pair of soft black pants and a button down black silk shirt. His hair was perfectly quaffed and the bed had made itself under them. He’d really rather have taken an actual shower, but he was too shaken, and besides, he didn’t want to leave Aziraphale for even a minute, let alone the time it would take to bathe.

He looked back up at his beloved angel, still sitting patiently on the edge of his bed. When Crowley had pulled away, Aziraphale had taken the opportunity to remove his coat, and now sat in his familiar vest and shirt sleeves, looking lost and a bit worried. Crowley was struck again by his beauty. His white blond hair, like unruly flames, playing about his face. His features, a bit weathered now over the thousands of years of exposure to earthly elements. Sensual lips, long nose with that sweet bump in the middle of the bridge.. Large hazel eyes that now looked back at Crowley filled with gentleness and patience. His angel. His beautiful angel. 

It was in that moment that Crowley decided to tell him exactly what had happened in the nightmare. He could have brushed it off, but he didn’t. He was done with hiding.

“I dreamed that I was on trial in heaven” he began, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he could sit next to Aziraphale. He looked down at his hands as they lay, empty and helpless in his black clad lap. “It was presided over by my favorite asshole” 

“Gabriel?” guessed Aziraphale accurately, and Crowley felt his love for the angel practically double in strength. 

He nodded. “And Hastur and Sandalphon and Beelzebub. It was horrible. They brought you out in chains. You’d been…tortured” he stopped momentarily, gathering his courage to continue and suppressing a pang of fear at the memory of the sight of his angel, beaten, bloody and broken, standing before the podium. He felt Aziraphale place a gentle hand, warm and reassuring on his shoulder. He shivered at the contact, and found the courage to continue. 

“They told me that you’d sinned by being associated with me, and that you had to… to… die for it.” He admitted in a tight voice. He felt Aziraphale’s warm hand begin to move in slow, lazy, reassuring circles around his shoulder blade. It’s warmth soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt and into his cool skin like a healing balm. He felt the angels eyes, concerned and patient, fixed on his face. “Sandalphon took your flaming sword, and.. He… he burned you with it” he finished, his voice small and faint, as if the words had had to struggle to escape his lips. 

“Oh dear”Aziraphale said softly. “Oh my darling, I’m  _ so _ very sorry. That sounds horrible. What’s more, it was Sandalphon. We’re talking about an angel who in reality is too dense to know how to walk and speak at the same time”. Crowley chuckled despite himself. But then his humor faded.

“There’s more” he said, fear and shame creeping into his voice. “I had another dream, before this last one, a few nights ago. Right after we danced together”

Aziraphale’s arm had crept slowly and warmly across Crowley’s back, his hand making those same, delicious, lazy circles as it traveled, until he had wrapped his arm around Crowley. He pulled gently and Crowley’s head fell willingly and softly to the angel’s broad shoulder. “Tell me darling” he said quietly. 

Crowley sighed deeply, gaining strength from Aziraphale’s solid body pressed against his side “In the first dream, we were together on a hillside. And everything was so perfect. You were so... kind and I had my head … in your lap.. And… and I looked up at you.. And..” Aziraphale felt Crowley pause briefly before continuing..”I told you that.. Well.. that I loved you.” 

“ _ Oh Crowley _ ” Aziraphale began to speak, to interrupt, but Crowley silenced him with a gentle hand on his chest, carefully keeping his eyes cast down at where their knees were pressed together. He had to get it all out.

“And then” he continued “the world went dark and you were  _ so cruel  _ and you told me that you hated me and that I.. that I...  _ disgusted you _ ” Crowely finished all in a rush. He felt his cheeks burn with shame at the admission. He’d said it out loud, and now Aziraphale could confirm those horrible, nightmarish feelings. Never mind that the angel sat so close to him. Never mind that his arm was tight around Crowley, or that he was being so extremely patient and so kind. No matter that Crowley felt completely warm and comforted in the angel’s presence in this moment. He’d felt this good in the horrible dream as well, and that had descended into horror. Why not this moment too? He realized he’d stopped breathing and that his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. He was waiting for Aziraphale to reject him. To make his nightmare come true.

Aziraphale meanwhile found that he was also holding his breath. From the moment Crowley had said the words  _ “I told you.. Well.. that I loved you” _ , he’d felt a flush of emotion bloom inside of his chest. Could it possibly be true? Heart hammering, he reached over and gently lifted Crowley’s chin so that they could look each other in the eyes. Luminous hazel met burnished gold, and Aziraphale felt his breath come back in a rush as he could suddenly see that what Crowley said was indeed true. Love shown plainly in the demon’s face, in his strange and beautiful eyes as they gazed into Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale wondered how he could have missed seeing it before. Maybe it was those blasted shades. He noted that the look of love was tempered by fear, and he immediately felt an all consuming devotion rise up in him to do whatever it took to vanquish that fear. 

He spoke with a voice deep with love and caring, striving to put all the certainty he felt in his heart into the words. 

“Oh Crowley.  _ I love you _ my darling. With all my heart. I have for so, so many years now.” Aziraphale said softly, reverently, and then he leaned toward the demon and captured his lips in a delicate kiss. A kiss so light and tremulous that it was as if he feared he’d break Crowley into a thousand pieces if he pushed further. He heard Crowley’s sharp intake of breath and was surprised and dismayed when the demon pulled back immediately from the kiss as if burned.

With a whimper, Crowley suddenly pulled himself away from Aziraphale’s warm half embrace and scrambled away across the bed. Aziraphale, shocked and dismayed stood and turned to face the demon where he now stood, on the opposite side of the bed, eyes haunted. 

“You can’t” Crowley said in a voice that sounded flat and dead to Aziraphale’s ears. “You can’t do that.”

“Well, why ever  _ not?! _ ” Cried Aziraphale in confused frustration. “Crowley, my dearest! Can’t you see that I am head over heels in love with you? Why would a kiss be a bad thing?” 

His words made Crowley’s stiff stance loosen a bit.. made his shoulders climb down a notch from where they’d been attempting to lodge themselves under his ears. But he didn’t move. Aziraphale took a hesitant step to come around the bed and Crowley took a halting step that took him further away. His face pained. 

“Aziraphale” he faltered, breath coming quicker and eyes darting about the room. “In my dreams, it was your closeness to me that damned you to execution. In the first dream, I didn’t tell you this, but you …. When you … rejected me, you… changed. Into a demon.” his voice caught and Aziraphale was afraid that he’d start crying again. The angel stood, helplessly far away from Crowley, the bed stretching out between them like an insurmountable mountain range, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure what to do next. 

“Your clothes turned black and your eyes looked... just like mine.. And I just  _ know  _ that spending all this time together is making you less good. I’m infecting you with unholy ideas and un-angelic desires.. And if my love is working to corrupt you.. Well, I just couldn’t live with myself if you... fell. I couldn’t live with myself if they found us out and they  _ hurt you _ , all because I love… I love you so very much” His voice hitched and he brought both of his expressive, long fingered hands up to cover his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. 

“Oh my dear dear Crowley” Aziraphale felt tears welling in his own eyes with pity for his poor demon. “You haven’t corrupted me. Quite the opposite. You’ve taught me to be a better, truer, more refined version of myself.” Crowley dropped his hands from his mouth and proceeded to gaze at Aziraphale with confusion as the angel continued. 

“You could never possibly do anything that would make me less good my dearest. If anything, your influence has deepened me. Made me more… well.. More three dimensional as it were. Being with you has made me the best and certainly most interesting version of myself. Can you imagine what I’d be if I’d never met you? If you’d never challenged me to think differently about the world or if you’d never helped me see the hypocrisy in both of our sides? A pompous, prudish, unimaginative twat like Gabriel probably”

Aziraphale felt his heart leap upon seeing the sly grin that crept over Crowley’s face upon hearing Gabriel derided. Taking this as a good sign and took a cautious step to come around to Crowley’s side of the bed. When the demon didn’t stop him, or move away, he slowly made his way over to Crowley, step by careful step, until they stood, face to face, less than a foot away from each other. He didn’t move to touch Crowely, only wanted to be near him again.. To close the chasm he felt threatening to open between them.

“Dearest” he repeated softly, imploringly. “Please don’t shut me out. I’ve waited so long just to have you in my arms. You can’t tell me that it wasn’t  _ good _ . That it didn’t feel  _ right _ .” He took another tentative half step towards Crowley and winced as he saw the demon pull back again. Aziraphale thought his heart might break at the sight of his demon, afraid to accept his touch, after centuries of having to be satisfied with a passing polite tap on his shoulder or a rare handshake. The thought of never touching Crowley again sent arrows of icy regret and fear through his heart.

“Darling” he pleaded, unafraid to beg “If you shut me out now I’ll be forever heartbroken. Nothing they can do to me could ever hurt more than you shutting me out.”

“Crowley dearest. I need you.” His eyes as they searched Crowley’s face were shining with love and tinged with hope. “Please” he repeated like an entreaty. “Please… “ He saw something change in Crowley’s eyes then. Saw them slowly change from wary fear to soft love.

With an anguished cry and a swift step, Crowley was in his arms. He kissed Aziraphale with passionate intensity, wrapping his arms so tightly and suddenly around the angel that Aziraphale had to take a step back as Crowley’s body hit his. 

At first, it was a desperate kiss. A needy kiss. Their mouths wide open, tongues curling together, teeth clacking softly as Crowley forced his mouth onto Aziraphale’s and as they breathed hotly into one another. Aziraphale returned the fierce embrace and kissed Crowley back with blazing purpose. His hands roaming up to make a mess of Crowley’s perfect auburn hair, then to pull gently but insistently at his slender neck, then to frame his face. Crowely let his hands play hungrily over the demon’s waist, his back, his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, as close as he could get him. But eventually, when the world didn’t end, when demons and angels didn’t appear to rip them apart, they slowed. The kiss became more languid, more loving and still more passionate. Aziraphale groaned deep in his chest at the feel of Crowley’s lips and tongue sliding deliciously against his, of Crowley’s hands pulling on his hips, his shoulders. 

Crowley for his part had fallen into bliss. He was utterly lost in the angel’s smell, the angel’s soft lips, the angel’s warm arms wrapped around him. He’d dreamed of this  _ so many times _ and now he was living a dream come true. He felt sharp twinges of desire coursing through him that burned away all the fear and anguish that still lingered from his nightmares. How could he ever fear anything again when his angel was in his arms, kissing him in ways that made his heart soar and his body ache? 

They tumbled clumsily onto the bed, awkwardly pulling at clothing and fumbling with buttons. They could have miracled the clothes away, but something about the hot need of the situation, the profound importance and excitement of it, they both seemed to silently agree that the work to undress each other was part of it. The work, of removing those layers of man made fabric that they’d used to keep their skin separate for so many thousands of years, felt infused with necessary symbolism. This... Crowley unbuttoning Aziraphale’s starched white shirt with trembling fingers… this, Aziraphale doing the same for Crowley’s black silk shirt and pushing it reverently from his cool, slender shoulders, kissing all the while.. This was their new religion. As articles of clothing were reverently but swiftly removed by hands trembling with need, they exposed expanses of skin unknown to one another. Aziraphale slid his hot hand along the sharp angles of Crowley’s exposed shoulder and the demon sighed passionately. Crowley slid an arm and a questing hand around Aziraphale’s thick waist, feeling nothing but silky smooth skin beneath his fingers, and Aziraphale gasped and let out a groan that made Crowley’s insides turn to liquid heat. 

They stopped undressing one another for a moment and chose to lay side by side, shirtless, chest pressed to chest, hands roaming deliriously over smooth skin, Crowley’s fingers wandering delicately in Aziraphale’s hair, Aziraphale’s fingers sliding down the length of Crowly’s neck, feeling the pulse that raced there. But soon, their closeness, the feel of skin on skin spurred them to continue. Their pants were removed clumsily. Crowley sat up briefly to help pull Aziraphale’s hopelessly old fashioned trousers from his thick legs and to kick his own slinky pants off with relative ease before laying back down with his angel. 

Now they could press against each other, completely naked. Aziraphale’s mind was spinning at the intense pleasure he felt over having Crowley’s smooth, soft body pressed fully against his own. He began to move against Crowley, the slow lurch of his pelvis causing a thrilling friction that took his breath away. Crowley moved with him, a high pitched noise, full of need escaping his throat. It was heavenly music to Aziraphale’s ears. They continued, sliding against the other in slow, rhythmic thrusts. Crowley, his breath coming in hot little gasps, reached his hand down to pull at Aziraphale’s hip and Azirphale placed a burning hot hand on Crowley’s slender low back, pulling him more forcefully against him. It wasn’t long before the delicious friction undid them. Crowly came first, with a gasp and a deep moan as waves of pleasure washed through him… Aziraphale following soon afterwards, crying out Crowley’s name in a voice the demon had never heard before, but wanted to hear over and over again. 

As their passion slowly cooled, they lay, still wrapped in each other’s arms, oblivious to the deliciously sticky mess they’d made between them, gazing deliriously into each other’s eyes. 

“My god” whispered Aziraphale. “That was… that was…” his words failed him

“Heavenly?” supplied Crowley with a wicked grin, bending his head to kiss Aziraphale’s neck. He wrapped his arms more tightly around his angel, marveling at how soft and solid and warm Aziraphale’s body felt in his embrace. He felt completely safe and finally fully at home wrapped in the angel’s arms. 

“Yes my darling” murmured Aziraphale happily. “That’s exactly right” 

_______________________________________________________________

  
Somewhere, impossibly far away, but simultaneously very close by, God sensed a change in the way the universe was ordered. Loose ends that had seemed forever frayed apart were now fit snugly together. A small twinge of pain, like a sore muscle in one’s neck had finally smoothed out and disappeared. She grinned.  _ Finally, _ she thought.  _ It’s about bloody time _ . 


End file.
